


Gently Play upon Your Heartstrings

by cleflink



Series: Rockstar Jensen Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Jared still isn't going to sleep with him, Jensen is all that and a bag of potato chips, M/M, Rockstars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleflink/pseuds/cleflink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is the superstar lead singer of the world's hottest rock band and, as such, is totally not bitter about getting turned down by Jared fucking Padalecki. Too bad the guy manages the hotel that Jensen lives in and is incredibly difficult to ignore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gently Play upon Your Heartstrings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [kefa2112](http://kefa2112.livejournal.com) for the AO3 Author Auction (anyone remember it? Me neither). She has been so incredibly patient waiting for me to write this and I can only hope that it's what she was looking for. Title is from Queen's _Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy_.
> 
> A million thank yous to [dugindeep](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep) for a) endless enthusiasm for this concept and b) a stellar beta job. I heart you forever, hon!
> 
> EDIT: [becc_j](http://becc_j.livejournal.com) made [this amazingly gorgeous piece of art](http://becc-j.livejournal.com/19449.html) to accompany the story! Because she is fantastic like that.

Jensen was not fidgeting.

"If you don't stop fucking fidgeting, I'm going to throw you off the goddamn bus," Chris said, not looking up from his guitar. 

"I'm not fidgeting!" Jensen snapped back. He put one hand on his leg to stop it bouncing. 

"Mm hmm," Chris said, sounding entirely unconvinced.

Jensen scowled at him. "Oh fuck off. After four months on fucking tour, I'm allowed to be eager to sleep in my own bed again."

Chris darted an amused smirk at Jensen through the fall of his hair. "Hate to break it to you, sunshine, but you're a couple of states away from your _own_ bed."

"You know what I mean. Could you maybe try not being a colossal dick for once?"

"You kidding?" Chris said. "I look forward to this part every time we come back to L.A."

An expectant pause followed Chris' words, so Jensen turned pointedly away from him to stare out the window. They'd been in heavy traffic since they'd left LAX and, while Jensen knew from experience that the actual distance from the airport to the studio offices had nothing whatsoever to do with how long it took to make the trip, this seemed excessive even by L.A. standards. Fuck, he could probably have walked there faster.

Jensen could feel Chris' eyes on his back as the silence stretched out. The traffic outside the window didn't miraculously improve. Jensen's leg started twitching again. 

"Oh, fine," Jensen said finally, rounding with his glare already in place to combat Chris' smug amusement. "I'll bite. What part do you look forward to?"

Chris grinned widely. "Watching the great Jensen Ackles getting all nervous about a _boy_. If your fans could see you now."

"I am _not_ -" Jensen started hotly. 

"Pipe down before you wake the others," Chris warned. He cast a significant glance towards the back of the bus.

It was good advice. Jensen was pretty sure he could handle a grumpy, sleep-deprived Aldis, if it came down to it, but Beth was downright terrifying. 

"I am not nervous about seeing anybody," Jensen hissed, voice carefully lowered. "I just want to get off this damn tour bus already, okay?"

"Whatever you say, Jensen," Chris said, not sounding the least bit convinced. The bastard. "Maybe you should name the next song you write 'Denial'."

Jensen cast about and threw the first thing he found - one of Aldis' shoes - at Chris' head. "Fucker."

Chris leaned easily out of the way, undeterred. "Maybe if you dedicate it to him, Jared will even put you out of your misery. You've tried everything else."

This time, it was himself that Jensen threw at Chris. Chris' instinctive 'fucker, watch the guitar!' was far more satisfying than it should have been. 

The gentle fist to Chris' face, on the other hand, was exactly as satisfying as Jensen had expected.

The resulting scuffle did not, in fact, break Chris' guitar, although it did an impressive amount of damage to the table and got both of them in trouble with Beth, who looked about ready to beat them to death with her drumsticks.

After they managed to avoid death by sleep-deprived drummer, Jensen returned his attention to the fucking traffic. He decided to ignore the fact that Chris still looked smug, even with a bruise high on his cheek, two buttons on his shirt missing and a hairdo that looked like it had just lost a fight with a hurricane. Jensen also refused to waste any brain power thinking about who might or might not be waiting for him when he got back to his apartment.

Because Jensen was absolutely not nervous. Fucking Chris.

\---

Jensen was famous. Not the 'actually contributing to society famous' like Stephen Hawking, or the 'flash in the pan' famous like Taylor Hicks, or even the 'always in the rag mags famous' like Paris Hilton, but the genuine 'common household name, universal acclaim and undying glory' famous. 

Which was pretty fucking awesome.

He was the lead singer of _Ascendancy_ , one of the biggest rock bands in history. They'd been at the top of the music scene for twelve years now and had no intentions of slowing down anytime soon. They had full handfuls of gold and platinum records to their name, their fans numbered in the thousands upon thousands, they'd played to sold out crowds all over the world. They were _TIME Magazine's_ band of the decade. They'd been described as _Led Zeppelin_ for the new millennium, and Jensen himself as the most magnetic front man since Freddy Mercury.

They were a four-man show: Jensen on vocals and occasionally guitar; Chris on guitar and backing vocals; Aldis on bass; and Beth on drums. Some bands had a revolving door policy when it came to membership, but _Ascendancy_ was, and always would be, just them. They'd had a different drummer to begin with, when they'd been just another group of stupidly optimistic kids with dreams that had nothing whatsoever to do with how reality worked. The guy had been talented, sure, but Beth had _fit_ , which was exactly what the band needed. Jensen knew that none of them - himself most definitely included - were half as good alone as they were together. 

Years of living in each others' pockets had given them a close-knit sense of unity and belonging that made their music even tighter than it already had been. They were a team, a family, and that was why they were so good.

Which wasn't to say that Jensen didn't want to strangle Chris nearly as often as not, or that Aldis' tendency to act like a particularly ineffective Rottweiler whenever the fans started getting a little too interested in Beth's rack wasn't irritating as fuck, or that Beth's particular brand of crazy was incredibly hard to handle when he wasn't caffeinated, but putting up with bullshit was what family did. 

Not that Jensen's biological family had ever really got that, but Jensen had stopped feeling bitter about that years ago. He'd had the chance to tell all of his relatives to fuck right off when they'd started circling like vultures after he'd earned his first million. Which had been incredibly satisfying. He was better off without them.

These days, Jensen had everything he could possibly want. He was adored by millions. He had his bandmates and his music and a stage to play on. He was on top of the world. And he loved it. 

So, as far as Jensen was concerned, Chris could go fuck himself. And so could Jared Padalecki. 

\---

By the time their bus conquered the traffic and pulled up outside the studio, Jensen was wound tight and twitchy with the desire to beat Chris to death with his own guitar just to make him stop smirking so blatantly. It was with a sense of relief so profound that Jensen was surprised it hadn't been heralded by choirs of angels that he finally escaped the bus, flanked by two bodyguards-slash-porters who were carrying all the shit he'd lugged with him all over the country for the last four months. 

"Say hi to Jared for me!" Chris called after him, because jackass was his default settling. 

Jensen casually gave him the finger as he slid on his stupid famous-person aviators and followed his bodyguard-porters out to where a car was waiting to take him to the closest thing he had to a home in this state. 

Jensen's actual home, inasmuch as he had one, was in Texas. The quietly sprawling ranch house far from the bustling mass of the city had been the first thing he'd bought for himself when his career hit the stratosphere. It was big for one person, but not too big, and the lack of demands on his time, personality and smile made Jensen feel as much like himself as he ever could when he wasn't on a wide-open stage, spurred on by the thrumming energy of a thousand screaming fans.

But the distance between Texas and California made it incredibly inconvenient for Jensen to stay there while they were writing or recording in the studio. And even he could only rattle away by himself in a big, quiet house in the country for so long before the solitude started getting to him. 

The label had recommended that Jensen buy a second house in L.A., in one of those gated, rich-people neighbourhoods. Jensen ignored them. He hardly lived in the one house he already owned; what would he do with more of the damn things?

To begin with, Jensen had dealt with the commuting issue by either staying in hotels or crashing at Chris' place whenever they needed him in the studio. Sadly, neither option was particularly enjoyable; being a face recognized by literally two-thirds of the world made staying at random hotels a security nightmare and Chris was a fucking terrible roommate. 

So Jensen's manager, in a desperate bid for compromise, sent him to _The Insula_. 

_The Insula_ was a high-end hotel designed specifically for the long stays of the rich and famous. Jensen paid a hefty chunk of change to live in the penthouse there because, fuck yeah, hotel penthouse, and he had a continuous lease, which meant the place was still his, even when he wasn't in it.

Which sounded more like an apartment rental than a hotel stay, but _The Insula_ was far more than that; it had all the advantages of a rental as well as all the amenities of a hotel. Full room service, including meals, laundry and housekeeping. A restaurant and a bar on the main floor. Open areas for guests and residents. Free Wi-Fi. A swimming pool the size of a football field. Mints on his freaking pillow. The works.

It really was the best of all possible works, except for one tiny thing.

Well, one rather big thing if you were going by height. Jensen mostly tried not to think about it.

\---

Jensen slouched into _The Insula_ with all the dignity he could manage while slouching around like a teenager sneaking into the house past curfew. He hid behind his sunglasses and leather jacket without thinking too hard about the impulse to do so - or about the complete futility of attempting subterfuge in a place where the security guards needed to see his I.D. before they'd let him in the front door. 

"Welcome back, Mr. Ackles," smiled Dave, the head guard. Because it apparently went against the security guard code of conduct to call him by his first name. As if most of the known world didn't use the damn thing nearly as often as they passed the salt.

Still, it was nice to see a familiar face. Despite his fatigue, Jensen chatted with Dave for a few minutes, catching up on the saga of Dave's vaguely suicidal parrot and offering a short anecdote from the tour. He was definitely not stalling.

Eventually, though, Jensen couldn't resist the lure of sleep and bid Dave farewell. Armed with his keycard and bag-carrying minions, Jensen steeled his resolve and walked through the security doors into the building proper. His shoulders tried to climb up to his ears but he forced them down; he refused to let anyone accuse him of being nervous. Because he wasn't.

Besides, maybe Jared wouldn't be there.

"Mr. Ackles," Jared said. He was standing in his usual spot at the concierge desk, wearing the same polite fucking smile he always wore. Jensen hated it. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," Jensen said, because he was not fucking nervous and he had fucking manners. "Do you ever leave that desk?"

Jared chuckled. Which Jensen did not find at all attractive. "I'm surgically grafted to it. They peel me off when someone needs to sign paperwork."

Jensen made a noncommittal noise in response and lifted one hand in an absent farewell before continuing on to the elevator, head held determinedly high. Jared made no attempt to encourage him to stay and talk, not that Jensen had expected him to. Theirs wasn't that kind of relationship. If it could be called a relationship. Which it couldn't. Which was just fine with Jensen. 

Fuck Jared Padalecki anyway. 

(Literally, if possible. Except it wasn't. Which was also just fine with Jensen. Really).

\---

Jared was the general manager of _The Insula_. He'd been the first person Jensen had met when he moved in six years ago. It hadn't been the most auspicious first meeting.

That first time, Jensen had just stepped off a red-eye flight from Paris and, while he was awake enough to smile for the paparazzi that bombarded him at the airport, all he really wanted to do was face plant into his fluffy new bed and sleep until he was hungry enough to harass room service for food.

Then he saw the guy waiting for them in the foyer and made a slight adjustment to that plan: the bed could stay, but the sleeping was going to have to wait. Because _damn_.

Mr. Yes Please was wearing a navy suit that fit like a fucking glove and showed off broad shoulders, narrow hips and legs that went on forever. He wore his hair overlong in a shaggy mess that Jensen was already looking forward to messing up further, and the muscles in his arms were giving Jensen some delightfully wicked ideas.

And Jensen would have liked to say that he hadn't let all of his fame go to his head, but he had to admit that he was kind of used to having what he wanted when he wanted it. He did a better job at staying out of the tabloids than a lot of other stars - seriously, Paris - but Jensen had his own share of indiscretions. That didn't automatically make him an asshole.

Chris would have said that Jensen had always been an asshole, because Chris was a douchebag like that. Chris would probably also have said some bullshit about Jensen being both afraid of commitment and too much of a coward to have a real relationship, but Jensen wasn't the only one who preferred one-night stands over 'real' relationships; dating just wasn't on the table when living the kind of life they did.

Besides, with people like this guy hanging around, Jensen couldn't imagine why anyone would give up the chance to get a piece of that.

So Jensen pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and flashed his best pants-dropping smile. "Well hello, you."

The guy smiled, warm but professional, and Jensen was pleased when the motion carved dimples into tanned cheeks. He'd always been a sucker for a pretty smile. "Hello, Mr. Ackles," he said, extending a hand. "My name's Jared Padalecki and I'm the general manager of _The Insula_. I hope you enjoy your time here."

"Oh," Jensen drawled, as he reached out to shake Jared's hand. Jared's grip was firm and the contrast of his deeply tanned hands to Jensen's paler skin was very nice indeed. Those fingers were going to look gorgeous wrapped around Jensen's hips. "I'm sure I shall."

Jared's smile deepened briefly, before he released Jensen's hand and gestured towards an office near the concierge's desk. "If you'll follow me, Mr. Ackles, we can sort out the last few details and I'll introduce you to the hotel."

"Call me Jensen, please." Jensen gestured for Jared to lead the way and proceeded to stare at Jared's ass the entire way to Jared's office.

Jared was a consummate professional as he walked Jensen through the booking contract and discussed the hotel's policies and amenities. Jensen paid no attention whatsoever, too busy mentally undressing Jared to give a shit. No flicker of either discomfort or arousal crossed Jared's face under the scrutiny, which Jensen was grudgingly impressed by. The idea that he might be married was disregarded with a quick glance at Jared's bare ring finger - not that something like infidelity would have stopped Jensen, but it made things simpler when he didn't have to deal with the guilt - and there were no framed pictures on the desk to suggest that Jared was in any kind of long-term relationship or a single dad or something. 

It was always possible that the guy was straight - not that that ever stopped Jensen, either - but Jensen had been around the block enough to know when someone was checking him out, no matter how covert they were about it. And Jared was definitely checking him out. Jensen shifted in his seat, letting his hands fall to the tops of his thighs and his back arch just slightly, and bit back a smirk when Jared's eyes flicked briefly but unmistakably up the length of his body. 

"…contact the security desk. And that's just about it." Jared smiled at him again, and Jensen let his eyes drift away from the slight strain of Jared's shirt buttons to return to Jared's pretty eyes. "Did you have any questions for me, Mr. Ackles?"

"First one is why you're being so rude as to ignore that fact that I asked you to call me Jensen," Jensen said, with a smile that made it clear that he was only half serious.

"Selective hearing, I'm afraid," Jared said, without a trace of apology. "Tends to happen in situations like this."

"I'm not accepting that as an excuse."

"I must insist, though. Next question?"

"My bed big enough to fit a guy like you in it?" Jensen asked, with a shamelessly hungry smirk. He let his body language fall open and ready, making it perfectly clear that it was more than just innuendo. "I like a big bed."

Jared smiled, a pleasant, unhurried expression. "Our beds make king sizes feel inadequate. You'll be perfectly comfortable."

"Uh huh. You gonna make sure of that?" Jensen let his voice drop along with the slow slide of his hand up his thigh towards his crotch. "Cause I'd _really_ appreciate it if you did."

"I'll have housekeeping send up some extra pillows," Jared said, giving every impression of being totally honest. He winked, which was incredibly unfair. "Like sleeping on angel wings, I swear."

Jensen stared at him. "Are you being serious?"

"Serious is part of the job description. Let me show you to your suite."

Jared stood and held open the door, waiting until Jensen finally climbed to his feet and followed him out of the room before he let it swing shut.

"You're in the penthouse on the fortieth floor," Jared said. Jensen suspected that he was saying it more out of a desire to talk than a belief that Jensen didn't already know that. What Jensen couldn't decide was whether Jared talked a lot when he was nervous or he just talked a lot in general. Being around Jensen tended to make people nervous. "Every floor in the building requires a keycard to access it, so just swipe your card when you get on the elevator to go straight to your suite."

The elevator binged open and Jensen smirked when Jared gestured for him to enter first. What a gentleman. 

"How long's the trip to the top?" Jensen asked, as he flicked his keycard through the reader.

"About three minutes."

Jensen had done more with less. It'd do.

The moment the doors slid shut, Jensen stepped right up into Jared's space, not bothering to hide the thrill that went down his spine when he had to look up to meet Jared's startled eyes. 

"So," he said, flattening one hand against the expensive silk of Jared's tie. "You gonna stop jerking me around now? Because I'd much rather you jerk me off while you fuck me in this big, big bed I've apparently got to break in."

Jared inhaled sharply enough that Jensen could feel his chest contracting under his palm. His pupils blew wide in automatic arousal and Jensen smiled, dark and hungry. 

"Feel like taking an early lunch break?" he asked, in the deep rumble that made people all over the world masturbate to his songs.

Jared took a deep, shuddering breath and Jensen smiled in anticipation. 

"No," Jared said, to Jensen's utter surprise. "I don't think I do."

"Oh, come on." Jensen boxed him up against the wall of the elevator and leaned in close. "I can pay your salary for the next three years with the cash in my daily expense account. I think I can convince your bosses to look the other way."

Something that would have looked like amusement if not for the arousal clouding Jared's face lifted the corner of Jared's mouth. "Not actually why I'm saying no."

Jensen felt himself frowning, confused. "Don't you know who I am?"

Jared's smile was impossibly steady. "It's kind of hard to miss."

"Then you must know that this isn't the sort of offer people turn down." Jensen let his eyes drift unapologetically down the length of Jared's chest. His hand followed the same path, slow and languid. "How many people do you think would kill to be in your place right now?"

"More than I want to count." Jared caught Jensen's wrist in one hand, stopping it just short of Jared's belt. His grip was iron strong and careful. "Perhaps you should ask one of them."

Jensen rolled his eyes. "You cannot be serious." He ignored Jared's possession of his hand and rocked his hips into Jared's. He felt the weight of Jared's dick through his pants - not hard yet, but definitely interested in the proceedings. "You and I both know you want this. So why not indulge?"

Jared's free hand landed on Jensen's shoulder and gently, but firmly, shifted Jensen to one side so that Jared could move away from the wall. 

"I'm not the indulging type," was all he said. 

Jensen stared at him in open shock and no small amount of anger. The elevator shuddered to a halt before he could make up his mind about what he wanted to say.

The elevator doors opened onto a small antechamber that looked disconcertingly similar to the mud room Jensen's parents had in their house, just without the detritus of football gear and discarded shoes. Jared moved towards it and Jensen grabbed his arm before he could complete his escape. "Wait."

Jared looked down at Jensen's hand, then up at Jensen. "I don't really want to get laughed at for filing a harassment charge against Jensen Ackles, but that doesn't mean I won't do it," he said evenly. "Kindly let go."

"Fucking-" Jensen waited several long, deliberate moments before letting his hand slide away from Jared's arm. 

"Thank you," Jared said. Then he smiled, and it was just as polite and open as it had been when Jensen first walked through the doors downstairs. "Come on. I'll give you a quick tour. I'll let you investigate the bedroom on your own, though."

\---

After that first, disastrous attempt at getting Jared into his bed (or against the wall or on the couch in Jared's office or or or), Jensen had made several further attempts to make the man realize that he was a fucking moron to be passing this up. He was a little more subtle than he had been in the elevator, since the direct approach clearly didn't fly, yet nothing else he tried was any more effective. 

When Jensen still hadn't made any headway with Jared by the time the band went on its next tour, Jensen decided that enough was enough. He didn't throw himself at anybody. Jared and his muscles and his stupid dimples could just fuck right off.

Now, six years later, things hadn't changed much.

Jensen's main reaction to Jared these days was to ignore him beyond the level of basic politeness. Jared took this in stride, and never seemed offended or put out by Jensen's brusque nature. Which, if Jensen was being honest, irritated him more than any other reaction would have.

The other problem with ignoring Jared, sadly, was that he was surprisingly difficult to ignore. Jared apparently lived at the concierge desk which meant that Jensen had to see him essentially every time he walked through the lobby. It also meant that Jensen had to give Jared an appreciative once-over essentially every time he walked through the lobby, both in an attempt to make Jared uncomfortable and because he really was just that nice to look at.

Jensen would never, under pain of death, admit to being just the slightest bit disappointed whenever he walked through the lobby and didn't see Jared standing there.

He'd also never admit that it was more than the fact that Jared was hot like burning that made it so hard to ignore him.

Somewhere around about year four of their acquaintance, Jensen had come to the uncomfortable realization that he actually knew more about Jared than he did about some of the people on his road crew, despite the fact that the two of them had never managed a conversation of more than fifty words that didn't involve Jensen trying to get into Jared's pants. 

And Jensen would honestly have been happier not knowing anything whatsoever about Jared besides the fact that he was hot like burning, both because it proved that he paid far too much attention to Jared and because, somehow, knowing more about Jared made it even harder not to pay attention to him. 

Some of the highlights on Jensen's far too long list of Things He Knew About Jared were that Jared:  
\- Smiled all the fucking time  
\- Was obscenely nice to everyone he talked to, worked with or bumped into at the grocery store  
\- Talked incessantly  
\- Was liked by fucking everybody  
\- Had two dogs that he pampered mercilessly  
\- Was gayer than a handbag full of rainbows  
\- Had the occasional date or three but no long-term boyfriend  
\- Clearly didn't need sleep, given the fact that he was always bright-eyed and bushy-tailed no matter what time of day or night Jensen went past the concierge desk

It was like a list of undeniable universal constants. The sun was shining and Jared Padalecki was an impossibly endearing excuse for a human being.

Which was why, when Jensen walked into the lobby about two weeks after they'd finished their tour and found Jared fairly wilting at the concierge desk, looking like he'd gone three rounds with a brick wall, he knew that something was seriously wrong in the world.

Without thinking, Jensen made an automatic about-face and walked right back out of the building, under the bemused eyes of the security guards. Once outside, he paused, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing, and dithered on the sidewalk for a moment before deciding that he'd only look like a bigger idiot if he walked back in again. He squared his shoulders, tucked his hat more firmly over his head and strode purposefully down the street.

He was back in ten minutes with a coffee cup in each hand and a line of determined tension stiffening his spine. The security guards waved him through with a pair of matching grins that Jensen did his best to ignore. 

Jared's head lifted towards him as Jensen passed through the security gate and Jensen could see the dark circles under Jared's eyes standing out starkly against the unnatural pallor of his cheeks.

"Hello, M-" Jared started, trailing off with a confused blink when Jensen marched towards the desk instead of bee-lining for the elevator like he usually did.

Jensen shoved one of the cups in Jared's face. "Blasphemy coffee," he said. He paused, then added, "For you."

Jensen didn't think he'd ever seen Jared look so obviously taken aback. "I- thank you?" Jared said, after a startled beat. He accepted the cup from Jensen with careful fingers, taking obvious care not to let their hands touch. Jensen ignored the part of himself that wanted to twitch. "Dare I ask what blasphemy coffee is?"

"Coffee that's full of milk and sugar and whipped cream and stuff." Jensen took a deliberate swallow of his own, gloriously black, coffee. "It's a sin against mankind. Everyone knows that coffee's got to be strong enough to melt your teeth or else it's not worth drinking." 

"Well," Jared said, his tone somewhere between shocked, amused and something Jensen could almost categorized as touched. "Guess I'm going to have to be a sinner because blasphemy coffee is definitely the way to go with me."

 _I know_ , Jensen didn't say, because he had no desire to look like a stalker. "Always knew you had bad taste," he said instead. He gestured up and down his own body with a sweep of his hand and a cheesy leer. "Look what you passed up."

Jared grinned at him, the expression easing the tension in his face. "Buying me coffee and then insulting me for it isn't likely to make me swoon into your arms, you know."

Feeling surprisingly self-conscious, Jensen offered up a jerky shrug. "Not trying to make you swoon. Just thought you needed a pick-me-up. You look like crap."

Jared's smile turned sheepish. "Had a busy few weeks. My parents descended unannounced, then my best friend's wife kicked him out so he's been living on my couch, and last night he decided to throw a pre-divorce party. Hard to get any sleep when the apartment's full of people reliving their college rager days."

"So you do sleep," was all Jensen could think to say. "I wasn't sure."

Jared laughed. Jensen briefly entertained the idea of not staring, but disregarded it almost immediately. It wasn't like Jared wasn't used to it. "I'm battery powered," Jared said. "Plug myself in at night and I'm all ready to go the next day."

"Knew there had to be something," Jensen said, then ran out of words to use. He and Jared stared at each other for a long moment of awkward silence before Jensen cleared his throat and stepped back. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Thanks," Jared said. The smile he offered Jensen was small and somehow warmer than any of the others he'd ever turned Jensen's way. "For the coffee."

Jensen summoned up a smirk. "I expect to see you back to normal tomorrow. I'd better not have suffered the indignity of buying blasphemy coffee for nothing."

"Try candy next time," Jared suggested. "Sugar fixes everything."

"I'll keep that in mind." Jensen hesitated for a moment, before adding, "Bye, Jared."

"Have a good day, Mr. Ackles," Jared answered, just like always. 

Which meant that Jensen had absolutely no explanation for the smile that kept threatening to invade his face for the rest of the day.

\---

Jensen would have expected that to be that. It wasn't as though Jared was any more likely to sleep with him after a single cup of coffee and, even if he was, Jensen refused to accept a pity fuck from anyone. He was _Jensen fucking Ackles_ ; pity and fucking did not go together in his world. 

To begin with, it seemed like he was right. Jared continued to be obnoxiously amiable and Jensen continued to pretend to ignore him. Their non-conversations stayed short, no mention was made of offered coffee and Jensen was just as happy to let this moment of accord pass unnoticed.

Sometimes, though, what Jensen wanted had very little bearing on what actually happened in his life.

\---

Jensen wanted to be asleep.

Jensen wasn't asleep.

It was too fucking early for this bullshit.

Darkness pressed in on all sides as Jensen rolled his head towards the glow of the clock on his nightstand and confirmed that a grand total of seven minutes had passed since the last time he'd checked. He huffed and hunkered down lower in his pillows, hoping against hope that the sheer bliss of his bed would win out over whatever idiocy inside his brain had decided that waking up at three fucking thirty in the morning was a good idea.

When he got tired of staring at the insides of his eyelids, Jensen traded off for staring at the ceiling instead. It wasn't an appreciable improvement.

The clock glowed a baleful '4:48 AM' when Jensen finally resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get back to sleep. Grumbling under his breath, he dragged his sleep-sluggish body out of bed and staggered into the washroom where he did the barest round of personal hygiene before banging back out into the bedroom and swayed in place for a while, trying to decide what to do with himself at this godforsaken time of the morning.

Jensen didn't know quite what possessed him to pick up his acoustic guitar and stagger out towards the elevator wearing nothing but a ratty t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, but he couldn't be bothered to second guess the impulse. He was obscenely famous; he was allowed to be eccentric if he wanted to be.

Jensen took the elevator down to the rec floor and headed for the lounge. The large, well-furnished room was quiet as the grave and Jensen didn't bother turning on the overhead lights. There was enough ambient light leaking through the windows from the streetlamps outside that he could walk through the room without tripping over anything, which was all Jensen really needed.

Guitar in hand, Jensen settled himself in a chair near the window, close enough to catch the light but not close enough to see anything out of it except sky. He tuned his guitar on autopilot and then let the music take charge. His fingers teased scraps and pieces of songs out of the strings, not composing so much as exploring. His thoughts drifted and Jensen let himself become an extension of his guitar, a mouthpiece for its gentle voice.

There was something soothing about the early morning, Jensen decided. Which was a rather laughable statement coming from a guy whose lifestyle generally ensured that he only ever saw mornings from the wrong side, but Jensen couldn't deny that there was a quiet kind of peace to be found in those sketched-out moments while the rest of the world was asleep. 

The room grew slowly lighter as Jensen shifted away from hooks and sliding scales to wander through his own existing catalogue, searching for songs that seemed to suit the feel of the morning. He was wending his way through a particularly complicated series of chord progressions when he happened to glance up and was brought up short by the sight of Jared leaning against the wall a scarce ten feet away. Jared had his arms folded over his chest and legs crossed neatly at the ankles, looking as though he'd been standing there for a while. 

Jensen's fingers stalled and the melody fell abruptly into silence.

"Sorry," Jared said, in the quiet tone of voice that people used in the early morning. "I didn't mean to intrude."

Jensen shook his head, fighting to pull himself out of the headspace he'd been in. "No, it's fine. I just… um, how long have you been standing there?"

 _Long enough_ , Jared's expression seemed to say. Jensen was absolutely appalled to find his cheeks prickling at the thought. He might have played his music in front of people all the time, but he didn't like letting people see him like this.

"Well," Jensen started, and then didn't know where to go with it. His fingers skated restlessly over the strings before he firmly told himself to get a grip. 

"I've always liked that one," Jared said, to Jensen's surprise. 

"What?"

Jared waved a hand at the guitar. "That last song, _Open Handed_? Always thought it deserved more recognition than it got. It sounds nice on the acoustic, by the way."

Jensen gaped at him, completely stunned. _Open Handed_ was one of those songs that, despite the opinion of the band, had been eclipsed by the media buzz for some of their other, bigger hits. Jensen still played it at concerts when he thought the audience was in the right mood for it, but it wasn't a song that was ever going to show up on a _Best of Ascendancy_ album. 

The idea that Jared had even _heard_ of the song, let alone was able to recognize it when played on an acoustic without lyrics, was staggering.

"Everything okay?" Jared asked.

"Since when are you enough of a fan to recognize _Open Handed_?" Jensen demanded. 

Jared shrugged easily. "Oh, I've always been a fan. Lined up all night for concert tickets, hung pictures of you and your leather pants on my walls, memorized the lyrics, the whole nine yards." 

Jensen could hardly believe what he was hearing. "But, then why…?"

"Am I not interested in sleeping with you?" Jared finished and Jensen nodded tightly, refusing to show how much he cared about the answer.

To his continued surprise, Jared smiled and said, "That's an easy one."

Jensen arched his best skeptical eyebrow. "Oh, it is, is it?"

"Yes." Jared pushed himself off the wall and walked up to Jensen. His height and the fact that Jensen was still sitting down meant that he fairly towered over him. He leaned down until his mouth was level with Jensen's ear and a shiver went down Jensen's spine despite his best efforts to suppress it. "I refuse to be a notch in anyone's belt," Jared said, in a low, intimate purr. "Not even the great Jensen Ackles."

He backed away as quickly as he'd come, and Jensen found himself blinking at the sudden distance between them. "I don't collect notches," he said dumbly, a little bit insulted at the implication.

"Not on purpose maybe." Jared's shrug was a liquid, careless thing. "Amounts to the same thing from my end."

"Huh." So Jared was into commitment. Jensen could respect that. Well, no he couldn't really, but at least now he had a reason for why Jared was apparently immune to the sex-ass rock god that Jensen was. It was a shit reason, in Jensen's opinion, but he had to admire Jared sticking to his principles, if nothing else.

So Jensen summoned up a teasing smirk. "Damn. There goes my attempt to seduce you with an early morning concert," Jensen said, punctuating his words with a demonstrative strum of the guitar strings.

"'Fraid so," Jared agreed. "I do appreciate the concert though." There was a grave sincerity in the words that, somehow, hit Jensen even harder than any successful seduction ever had. Jared glanced at his watch. "But it's time I was back at work."

Jensen had no idea what time it was, but he definitely knew that it was too fucking early to be working. "You really are battery-powered, aren't you? How the hell are you even still upright by the time lunch rolls around?"

"There are worse things in the world than being a morning person."

Jensen snorted. "Speak for yourself." He waved Jared away with one hand. "Off you go, then. Wouldn't want you to be late for your date with the front desk."

"No, we wouldn't," Jared agreed, sounding amused. He tipped his head in Jensen's direction. "I'll see you later, Mr. Ackles."

"It's Jensen!" Jensen called after him, even though it had been a good few years since he'd given up trying. This early morning shit was fucking him right up.

At least, that was his excuse for why he brought Jared another coffee pick-me-up that afternoon. And the afternoon after that. And the one after that too.

\---

It quickly snowballed from an impulse into a habit.

Not the crack of dawn insomnia, thank God, but the coffee bringing. Which was definitely the lesser of two evils, as far as Jensen was concerned, even though the very idea tended to make him squirm if he thought about it too long.

The band was busy laying down tracks for their next album, which meant that Jensen had as close to a regular schedule as he ever did when they weren't on tour: up early-ish, back to _The Insula_ mid-afternoon, and then he had the late afternoon and evening to do with what he wanted.

After their early morning concert and almost-conversation, Jensen added an extra step in his day between the studio and his suite. He'd stop at the Starbucks around the corner from _The Insula_ \- or, more accurately, his bodyguards would stop at the Starbucks around the corner; Jensen had no desire to get mobbed before his caffeine fix - and pick up a perfect black coffee for him and a creamy, frothy drink with a ridiculously complicated name and far too much sugar in it for Jared. 

And Jared, for the first time in six years, actually seemed more than just politely pleased to see him whenever Jensen arrived in the lobby. Awkward 'heres' and 'thank yous' slowly shifted into something closer to actual conversations and Jensen got to experience firsthand several of the things on his list that he'd known about Jared without ever having had them turned on himself before.

In turn, Jensen found himself talking about his own life, sharing tidbits about his tours, the nonsense astrology crap Aldis was getting into, Beth's unnatural aversion to socks, how much he wanted to strangle his producer sometimes and how much he wanted to strangle Chris all of the time. He threw in a decent amount of flirting too, but that was par for the course for Jensen, who flirted with everyone. Just because Jared had made it clear that he was unflinchingly disinterested in hooking up that didn't mean that Jensen had to stop, after all; he just had to be content with the fact that nothing was going to come of it. And, amazingly, he was. Against all odds, Jared was becoming something of a friend and Jensen's come-ons these days were more like banter than propositions. And, surprisingly, Jensen was okay with that.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Chris said, when Jensen foolishly told him about the way he was starting to look forward to coffee with Jared as one of the highlights of his day. "Still hoping for that pity fuck?"

"Fuck off," Jensen said sourly. "I got over it years ago. I wouldn't sleep with him now even if he begged."

Chris snorted. "Yes, you would. You'd sleep with him if he pulled out his cock in the middle of the street and told you to get on."

Jensen shoved him. "I hate you."

"Still with the protesting darlin'. You're just embarrassing yourself now."

\---

About a month into their new dynamic, Jensen walked into _The Insula_ with their coffee in hand and a cheeky greeting on his lips, only to find Jared in the process of locking his office, jacket over one arm and a pair of sunglasses perched on his head, sweeping his hair back from his face. Another member of the senior staff - Sarah? Sandy? Something with an 's' - was standing in Jared's traditional place at the concierge desk.

Jared turned and caught sight of Jensen, standing there like a moron with his two cups of coffee. 

"Hi," Jared said, with a smile. "I was hoping you'd get home before I left."

"Left?" Jensen asked dumbly.

"Late lunch," Jared explained. He tipped a smile at Sarah-Sandy and walked over to meet Jensen in the middle of the floor. "Big mess with a new client earlier. Didn't have time to eat. M'starving." 

"Oh."

"I was actually hoping you'd want to come with," Jared said.

The weirdest part was that he actually sounded like he meant it. "What?"

"Best pastries in town," Jared promised him. 

"I don't know," Jensen hedged, thinking of cameras and excited fans. Jared looked a little crestfallen and Jensen felt himself waver. "What… kind of place is it?"

Jared grinned delightedly and Jensen was distracted enough that he didn't notice when Jared liberated his own cup of coffee and tucked a hand into the crook of Jensen's elbow. "Trust me," he said, tugging him towards the front door. "You'll like it."

"I've been working all day," Jensen said. It wasn't anything close to a protest.

Jared's grin flashed in the corner of Jensen's eye. "So have I. Which is why we need pastries."

Jensen surrendered with a disgruntled shrug that in no way shook Jared's hand from his arm. "You're buying."

"Because the international superstar can't afford his own desserts."

"I've been buying your coffee every day for over a month," Jensen shot back. "It's your turn."

"Fair enough," Jared said, with a funny little smile. "Don't forget to put your ugly sunglasses back on," he added, sparing a nod for the grinning security guards who were watching them leave.

"You're a terrible person," Jensen informed him.

And Jared laughed. "If you say so."

\---

The little café that Jared took him to was no more than a fifteen minute walk away from _The Insula_ , and it was tucked into a quiet side street that Jensen would never have looked at twice if he'd been the one leading. It was a relief. Jensen and busy public places didn't mix well.

The interior was somewhere between cramped and cozy, and smelled overwhelmingly of fresh-baked bread. Jensen's stomach gurgled.

Jared grinned at him. "Told you. Pastries are always the answer."

"Your priorities worry me," Jensen said. He flicked his eyes across the room with practiced ease, looking for the table farthest away from both the windows and the main traffic around the cash desk. "You order. I'm going to get a table."

Jared's grin was getting a lot of exercise on this trip, Jensen was noticing. "You trust me to know what you want?"

"You always know what I want," Jensen said, leering just enough to sell it. "You just like making me unhappy."

"I care about the happiness of all our guests," Jared said facetiously. The twinkle of humour in his eyes gave him away.

"Get out of here," Jensen grumbled, heading for the table. Behind him, Jared just laughed and did as he was told.

Jensen sat down with his back to the window, shoulders rounding instinctively. He took off his sunglasses but kept his hat, doing his best not to look incredibly shifty.

Jared didn't keep him waiting long.

"Cannoli," Jared declared, plunking a plate on the table in front of Jensen as he sat down opposite him. "I dare you to dislike it."

Jensen raised an eyebrow at him. "Amazingly, one of the weirder things I've ever been dared to do."

Jared just smirked at him, already triumphant, and Jensen found himself smiling a little as he picked up the pastry.

Of course, he'd hardly taken a bite of what was indeed a truly excellent cannoli when the guy at the table behind them jerked around in his chair and exclaimed, at a far higher volume than Jensen appreciated, "Holy shit! You're Jensen Ackles!"

Jensen did not sigh. Instead, he put down his dessert, swiped a hand across his mouth to catch up any stray smudges of cream and turned to favour the man with a practiced smile. "Why yes I am. And you are?"

The guy was practically beside himself with delight, but he still managed to stutter out both his undying love of _Ascendancy_ and an autograph request. Jensen accepted the first graciously and responded to the second gracefully. He'd long since got into the habit of keeping a pen and pad of paper on him for just this kind of situation, so it was the work of moments to give the guy, Doug, his autograph. 

By this point, of course, the rest of the customers were flocking over in hesitant clusters of two or three. Jensen spent the next twenty minutes or so signing autographs, bestowing hugs and posing for photographs. The café's staff hung back, obviously too well trained to join the crowd - or else someone in charge back there was worried about losing Jensen's business - so Jensen went up to the desk when everyone else had been seen to and gave out smiles and autographs to the ones who wanted them.

Jared was watching him when Jensen finally returned to their table, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

"That'll be all over tumblr tomorrow," Jensen said as he sat down.

"Sorry," Jared offered. "I didn't realize…"

Jensen waved him off. "I'm used to it. I'm kind of a big deal."

"Is it always like that?" Jared asked. He leaned his elbows on the table and fixed Jensen with a curious look. "When you go out in public?"

"Depends on if anyone recognizes me." Jensen returned his attention to his dessert, well aware that it wasn't really an answer. "As soon as that first person yells my name, it's pretty much a done deal that I'm gonna get swamped. This wasn't so bad; if we'd been in a busier place, it would've drawn people off the street, which would have taken forever. Especially if the paparazzi decided to show up." 

"Jesus. Don't you ever get sick of it?"

Jensen snorted. "Do I look like some kind of saint to you? Of course I do. But it's a part of my life and it's all worth it for the chance to be who I am on stage."

Jared raised an eyebrow at the wording. "And who's that?" 

"Jensen Ackles," Jensen said. He stuffed the last of the cannoli in his mouth and licked the excess powder off his fingers. "Lead singer of the best damn band in the world. A fucking rock god when you get me under those lights. A musician. A guy with a voice and a guitar and a whole lot of luck. Take your pick."

"What's it like?" Jared asked, and Jensen had never heard him sound like that: hushed, curious and a little reverent. "Being on stage."

Jensen smiled. "Best feeling in the world, man. Nothing but the music and the way it changes the life of every single person who hears it. When we're on stage it's like, for that one shining moment, everything in the world makes sense and it's a big tangled mess of adrenaline and love and urgency and it's…" he paused, groping for a word. "It's beautiful," he said finally, knowing it wasn't enough.

"Wow," Jared said, after a long, breathless moment. The sound of his voice made Jensen colour; he'd almost forgotten that he wasn't talking to himself.

"Yeah, well." Jensen shrugged uncomfortably. "You asked."

"No it's…" Apparently Jensen wasn't the only one struggling for words. "Thank you," he said, with a sincerity that surprised Jensen. "For sharing that with me."

Not knowing what else to do, Jensen settled for shrugging again. "Don't mention it. Can we change the subject now?"

Jared nodded. "So," he said smoothly. "Where have you been going every day? Your schedule isn't usually so consistent."

Jensen firmly told every part of himself not to read too much into that. No doubt Jared knew everyone's schedules like the back of his hand thanks to the way he practically lived at the concierge desk. "Laying down tracks for our new album," he said. 

"Yeah?" Jared said, looking interested. "S'it coming out any time soon?"

"Couple of months, I think. By Christmas for sure."

Jared grinned and toasted him with his own pastry - a chocolate drizzled Danish that Jensen was tempted to steal a bite of. "I think I approve of that even more than blasphemy coffee and pastries. And I love my pastries."

Jensen tilted his head curiously. "You really are a fan."

"Yeah," Jared said, sounding a little bemused. "I said so, didn't I?"

"Wasn't really expecting it," Jensen said, because understatement was definitely the way to go right now. "Trying to rearrange my world view to factor that in."

"Didn't know I was that integral to the world of Jensen Ackles," Jared said, with a cheeky grin that didn't match at all with the suddenly hollow thud of Jensen's heart. 

"Dream on, princess," Jensen said, mostly on autopilot. 

"No, no, this is great. I've got to write this in my diary."

Jensen snagged a cream puff off Jared's plate and smirked at his indignant 'hey!'. "What's that?" he asked, around a mouthful of cream. "You're a crazy stalker who has an entire diary dedicated to how wonderful I am? If you wanted to know what colour panties I wear, all you had to do was ask."

"Oh yes," Jared said, with a roll of his eyes. "That's exactly what I meant. Because I clearly don't have access to the hotel's cleaning staff who could just steal your underwear for me."

"Kinky," Jensen deadpanned. "Now I'm wondering about how good that security of yours is that I'm paying so much for."

"Brat," Jared said, laughing. "Shut up and eat your cream puff."

And Jensen did, with great gusto, even though there were good odds that a picture of him with chocolate and cream all over his face was going to show up on the Internet tomorrow. But this, sitting like an ordinary person in a hole-in-the-wall bakery with a grinning, happy Jared across the table from him, this was worth it.

\---

"Right, guys, that was good, but I'm thinking we can bring the drums to the forefront six beats earlier so that when the bass picks up it isn't - what?" Jensen looked up from where he was scribbling notations on his sheet music to find all of his band mates staring at him. "Am I speaking in tongues or something?"

"Jensen," Chris said, sounding like he was about to stage an intervention. "You do know that we didn't need any more songs for this album, right?"

"So?" Jensen said, a little belligerently. "Nothing wrong with a bonus track."

"Uh huh. And is there any reason why it's this song in particular that you want to include?"

"The hell kind of question is that? Because it's a damn good song! I know you like it too so what's the problem?"

"Do you want to tell him or should I?" Beth asked idly.

Jensen glared at the lot of them. "Anyone feel like telling me what the hell is going on?"

"You wrote this song for Jared," Chris said, which was about the last thing Jensen had expected him to say. "That's why you want it on the CD."

"I what?! Are you fucking high?" Jensen glared at him, starting to get angry. "God dammit, Chris, since when did being friends with someone mean that I automatically-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Chris let his hands drop from his guitar strings and glared right back at him. "You've been dating the guy for three months. Man up and ask him out already."

Jensen blinked at him. "Did that sentence make sense in your head? Because I'm pretty sure it lost something in translation."

"He means that you're doing all the boyfriend stuff without actually getting laid for it," Beth said. "Which is really kind of stupid."

"I am not doing 'boyfriend stuff' with Jared. We're _friends_. You may have heard the term before. It's what I wish I had in this band."

Chris snorted. "Oh suck it up, you whiner. Denial is not attractive."

"He's right," Beth agreed.

"This is crazy." Jensen looked around for some support. "Aldis?"

Aldis shrugged. "Guy's got a point. We're totally bros and I love ya, but I'd still think it was really weird if you talked about me all the time like you do with Jared."

" _All_ the time, seriously," Beth said, leaning over her drum kit at an angle that made Jensen worry she was going to knock the whole thing over. "I've never met him and I still know more about him than I do about Aldis' sister."

"Really?" Aldis asked. "Because I am not going to be the one to tell her that."

Beth ignored him, still focused on Jensen. "It's kind of cute. Just, you know, the embarrassing, sort of pathetic kind of cute. Like a retarded puppy."

Sometimes, Jensen wondered how they'd lasted so long as a band considering the fact that talking to his bandmates about anything except music always seemed to give him the urge to commit homicide.

"I'm not-"

"Course," Chris said. "You're going to have your work cut out for you convincing him that you really do want him for more than his body - way to sabotage yourself there, moron - but I'm sure he'll get on board quickly enough."

They were all insane. "…right. So let's say for argument's sake that I do want to date him-"

"You really kind of do," Aldis said. "Sorry."

"Fuck off," Jensen snapped, without looking away from Chris. "There's still one problem with your master plan there, Hannibal. Jared doesn't want to fuck me."

Chris rolled his eyes so hard that Jensen was amazed that he didn't strain something. "I really wish you'd done more drugs when we first got famous. At least then you'd have an excuse for being terminally stupid."

"Hey!"

"Of course Jared doesn't want to fuck you, moron," Chris said. "He wants to freaking marry you. Or did you miss the part where he's all about commitment?"

Jensen would deny on pain of death that he did a proper jaw drop when the meaning of Chris' words sank in. "I- you… what?"

"Guy totally wants you," Chris said, as though it was obvious. "Always has, but he's got different standards than you do."

"He's got standards, period," Beth chimed in, which Jensen thought was a little uncalled for.

"And," Chris continued. "For some reason, spending time with you has actually made him like you more, which you would have noticed forever ago if you didn't have your head so far up your own ass when it comes to relationships. S'not as embarrassingly obvious as your crush on him has always been-"

"I do _not_ have a crush on-"

"-but he'd definitely say yes if you asked him to turn your pathetically platonic dating into actual dating. Better be prepared for a long engagement, though. He seems like the kind of guy who wants to be wooed properly."

Jensen shook his head. "I don't believe this. Chris, you can't seriously-"

"Jensen," Chris said, in a tone of voice that cut Jensen off immediately. "You're not doing anyone any favours by pretending you're not in love with him."

The words hit Jensen like a machinegun volley to the chest.

"I'm not," he started, but the rest of the words stuck in his throat. 

Chris favoured him with a surprisingly sympathetic look. "Do you even realize how many songs you've written about the guy?" He waved a hand at the music in front of him. "None of them are quite as sappily lovesick as this one, but-"

The thought settled into his brain like it had always been there, true and heartbreakingly simple, and Jensen promptly forgot how to breathe. "Oh, Christ. Oh, _Christ_. Fucking hell, I'm… I'm _actually_ -"

"Yep!" Beth said brightly. "Can I be a bridesmaid at your wedding?"

"Jesus Christ," Jensen said again and slumped down onto the closest flat surface. In this case, the floor.

"Don't worry," Chris said, patting him on the back. "We got your back. You'll be blissfully engaged before you know it."

"Right," Jensen said faintly, and proceeded to be utterly useless for the rest of the day.

\---

Over the next few days, Jensen considered and discarded several plans for how to convince Jared to date and/or marry him. Or, more accurately, Jensen's idiot friends considered several plans and Jensen vetoed all of them. He knew that - terrifyingly - they actually had his best interests at heart, but they had absolutely no sense between them of how to woo the love of a person's life.

("Hey!" Aldis protested. "Some of us are _married_ you know!"

Jensen snorted. "That's Beth's fault. Like hell you were going to say no to her."

Aldis conceded the point.)

Eventually, Jensen told them all to fuck off and holed himself up in his penthouse to make his own plans. The process mostly consisted of keeping up a steady supply of beer and surfing the Internet looking for advice on how to confess his undying love to a guy who thought Jensen only wanted to get into his pants. It didn't help much. Jensen finally gave it up as a bad job when he found himself on Youtube watching videos of flash mob marriage proposals.

It took Jensen four days to come up with a) a plan that wasn't completely lame and b) the nerve to put it into action. Confidence was not something that Jensen had ever been particularly lacking in - with a face like his, who would be? - which Jensen took to be another sign of just how bullshit love was. Jared had better as hell be worth all this effort.

The worst part of Jensen's plan, aside from the very real potential of failure, was that it required him getting up ridiculously early on a day when he should have been sleeping till noon. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Jensen's insides were so twisted up around his nerves that night that sleep wasn't really in the cards for him anyway. And so stupid o'clock in the morning on a completely uneventful Thursday found him dragging himself down to the rec room in his pajamas, guitar held carefully in one hand and his mind jumbled with a mix of exhaustion and shaky adrenaline.

The room was abandoned and silent when Jensen walked in and he swore as he bashed his leg into a chair on his way to the couch under the window. He dithered for a long time tuning the strings, nerves jangling like they used to before performing big concerts stopped scaring the crap out of him. There was no point in having come all the way down here just to chicken out, though, so Jensen eventually stopped dicking around with the tuning and lifted his guitar and voice to the task at hand.

It was strange to sing like this: alone in a large, achingly quiet room, with nothing to accompany him but the tenor of his guitar and the slow creep of light through the window. Jensen focused his attentions inwards to block out the self-conscious awkwardness. It worked well enough to let him play the song through without butchering it completely, even though he'd have died before he let such a poor performance show up on an album.

As he brought the final chorus to a close, Jensen chanced a glance towards the door. It was still empty. Jensen took a single, deep breath and started the song over again.

He lost track of the number of times he played the song through; with each repetition, his playing grew smoother while his voice hoarsened. He kept going.

At some point, Jensen became aware that he wasn't alone in the room anymore, and he brought his current repetition of the song to an end so that he could look up at the familiar figure standing in front of him. "Hi."

Jared smiled back. "Hi. I've never heard that one before."

Jensen didn't have the faintest idea what to do with his hands, so he decided to keep them safely resting on the guitar. " _Skyward Soul_. It's off our new album."

"It's beautiful," Jared said. The corner of his mouth quirked. "But you already know that."

It was an easy line to work with; Jensen could have spun it in any number of ways to let them fall into their normal rhythm, to ease slowly into what Jensen was actually trying to say here.

But Jensen apparently had no game when he actually cared about the outcome, so instead he answered with a quiet, "I wrote it for you."

To say that Jared looked shocked was an understatement. "What-"

"Well, not _for_ you exactly," Jensen said, and dear God, he was a babbler. So uncool. "More like about you. Not that I realized when I was writing it but, looking back now, I can see where I-"

"This song is about me?" Jared asked, shell-shocked. 

Jensen bit his lip hard to keep from saying anything else and nodded.

"Why?"

And Jensen didn't really know how to answer that, so he summoned up a charming smile. "I would have thought that would be obvious."

It was the wrong move.

Jared's expression slammed closed. "Jensen, you can't-"

"I don't want to sleep with you," Jensen blurted, brain catching up only belatedly and making his face flush scarlet. Jared arched an eyebrow. "Fuck, I mean, I don't _just_ want to sleep with you. I definitely want to sleep with you. Just with ah, other stuff as well."

Jared looked skeptical. "What other kind of stuff are we talking about here?"

Jensen shrugged helplessly. "I was hoping you'd know, honestly. I've never done this before."

"Wrote a song to seduce someone?" Jared asked, the words jagged and stiff. Jensen just about growled.

" _No_ ," he said, with enough vehemence to make Jared startle. "You don't get it."

"Don't get what?" Jared demanded. He was starting to look irritated, which was not how Jensen had pictured this going at all.

"I don't write songs about people," Jensen tried. "Not ever. Not as a fuck you to my parents for being useless, not as a thank you to my friends for sticking with me and definitely aot as some kind of… of seduction technique for getting people into my bed." 

Jared sighed heavily. "Jensen, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you," Jensen said, and watched Jared's face crack on a slew of emotions that flicked by too quickly for Jensen to identify them. "But I haven't got any experience with this kind of thing, which is pretty fucking ridiculous considering I write about it for a living, so I was hoping that you would-" Jensen faltered, running out of steam between one word and the next, "-hoping you would…"

"That I would what?" Jared's voice was hushed and insistent. Jensen looked up to find Jared watching him with an expression that made his heart pound. "What do you want?"

Jensen swallowed hard. "I want you to go out with me. On a date. On a lot of dates. I want you to come with me on tour so I can show you all the places I've always thought you'd like. I want to meet your family and I want you to meet my bandmates. I want you to fuck me into the mattress and fall asleep next to me and still be there in the morning. I want to keep bringing you coffee. And one day I want to be able to come home to you in my house in Texas and know that it's our home. So, I guess I kind of want forever. If you want it."

Jared was silent for a long, long moment. Dread crawled up Jensen's spine. Only the fact that Jared was standing between him and the door kept him from bolting.

"You always did have a way with words," Jared said finally.

"Part of the job description," Jensen said. 

"Guess so. Well," Jared said then, and Jensen braced himself. "That actually sounds pretty fantastic to me."

"Really?" Jensen asked before he could help himself.

"Really, really," Jared said, and Jensen didn't know how he'd gone through so much of his life without seeing that particular expression on Jared's face. He wanted to fall into it and never come out again. A spark of humour glinted in Jared's eyes as he added, "Provided that you make a good impression on our first date, of course. I'm not that easy."

"Oh, I know. Believe me. I was, uh, thinking maybe dinner and a show?" Jensen said, letting hope lift his voice.

Jared's smile was a slow, pleased thing. "You were, huh? Any show in particular?"

Jensen shrugged, smiling as well. "Depends on what you want. I know a guy who can get you a backstage pass to the next _Ascendancy_ concert, though."

"Cheapskate," Jared said fondly. "Couldn't take me to a _U2_ concert."

"Hey, do you know how much tickets to my shows cost? Fuck _U2_."

Jared chuckled fondly. "I do know. Lining up all night at the ticket booths, remember?" He stepped closer, bringing himself right between Jensen's spread thighs. The front of his pants brushed Jensen's fingers where they were still spread across the guitar strings.

"Right, because you're a _fan_. Guess I'm going to be saving you a lot of money." 

"Works for me," Jared said. He bent down at the same time as Jensen arched up and they met in the middle in a kiss that was slow and careful and just a little awkward but still somehow exactly what Jensen had been hoping for. It didn't last long, only a few moments, but it held the promise of so much more. 

So," Jensen said, when they parted, with all the nonchalance he could muster. The look on Jared's face suggested he wasn't making a particularly good show of it. "Is that a yes?"

Jared laughed, and it was a happy, awestruck sound. "I think it might be, yeah."

"Good," Jensen said. "Because I fucking refuse to write an emo heartbreak song."

"Don't worry," Jared said, as Jensen hooked his strumming hand around Jared's neck to pull him in for another kiss. "I've been waiting on you for years. You're definitely stuck with me now."

~fin


End file.
